One. Your curls are meticulously moussed
That is how it sits on your skull so perfectly
Rounded and beautiful
Your smile resounds some kind of light when you allow it to show

Two. Worldly green eyes
Holding so much in
Don't hesitate to break the shiny glass that seals the nature from breaking through
The blinks and movements speak so much more

Three. Your face interests me beyond words
All the sharp edges and peculiar turns
A windy road provides path to expression on your stunning face
Please never stop talking

Four. Your skin is gloriously golden sunshine
Enkindling the kindest, most empathetic inklike irises
And your laughter, sweet
Sugar cane

Five. Patterned skin
Lines and lines
Wonderfully experienced
Let's travel along your skin like a railway

If you want to know someone
Deeply
Truly
Sincerely
Read their poetry

I write about love
Not because I am the best lover
Or because I am the most lovingly loveable
Or am I able to express love correctly
I love love
Love's love
Giving and not taking so much
Selfless and not selfish so much
Kind and not hating so much
Compromise and not greeding so much
That word is nonexistent but love is love is love
A reason for the whole wide world to love
And a reason for me to write about love
Until it sounds like it is no longer a word

Your hollow pupils have penetrated the light I am trying to create
Constricting in the ever so dimmed attempt at shining  
You're constricting yourself in this life in fact
Hulkish hues paint your pore-filled skin

Even in this way that your eyes are in my direction
I sense the tense, debilitating anger you feel
I am therefore trying to strengthen every atom in my body
And every cell in my skin

To teach you to yearn rather than fight
To cry and sorrow rather than battle in this never-ending war
You versus yourself
The I versus me, a mere lexical difference

My pores are even struggling to breathe, the way you look at me
Like my lungs are in this moment
Like a weight is constantly on my chest
And that air, is too heavy to inhale

...what has **** sapien evolved into?
Because your psychology will forever fascinate me
The beta, alpha, egos, emotions
You have been by far my favourite category of being to analyse
The solidarity is bliss
Smells, touches, kisses, yearning
Remembered like a stain on my sullied glass mirror
This spectrum that exists of masculinity
The disease of gender roles to be eradicated
The vaccination feminism to be prescribed

What is happening to me?
Rather than growing up into the tree, that I'm meant to be
I am becoming the monster I always knew
The monster I never looked up to
Who never lived under my bed
It has been said
Rather next to my bedroom
You take the life out of me, and it's way too soon
I am only young
This little tree's life has barely begun
You feed me worse than Oliver's gruel
"Sir, can I have some more?", no you absolute fool...
No, I do not want anymore of your negativity
Shoved down my neck, regrettably
I am going to say goodbye when I am done
Done with you, the moon, and I the sun
Perhaps my rays were too much for you
I ended up blinding you, too
Glaucomic ... You say I'm blinded by love
Take it, shove
It
****

You're meant to know more than me
And teach me how to be
But I guess I'll settle for this monstrosity

Sent

I have gnarled, uneven branches
Crumpled leaves, some of which sit at my feet
I am a thick tree
Grown this way since I was a sapling
I am nature's poetry
I am brown and cultured, wrinkled because of laughter
Too I am marked by burn scars and deforestation
I may find my worth in the summer
when my leaves are more beautiful
But I am learning I am worth myself
Majestic in size,
Provider of shade,
Perspective,
And open to life...

Impressionist blackness smudged around my eyes
Look into my dark, marmite irises and you find a deep sorrow
The depth like Van Gogh's sky's fathomless heights into the universe past dusk
Paused but the motion is undefinably disorientating
The rubbing of my eyes
Spreading of stars across my face
I am sobbing forever and ever

When you skip the rhyme
And you scan the lines
And you feel whatever you can,
Whatever comes to you: it's what I am.
A sobering experience
Highlighting our differences
As I'm allowing the typed letters to form words
And the words, often absurd.
Like the water will hydrate your body and skin
The words will do the same to your mind and soul within.

I can't concentrate when I'm with you
You ****** my attention away
You hide my inhibitions
Immediately and greedily
But you're not culpable
I lose all rationalities loving you
I lose all sense of self loving you

I picture her hands and
An image comes to mind.
Nails painted red and
Fingers wearing rings of every sort:
Sometimes gold, silver,
A diamond, and even sometimes
A turquoise stone.
Her hands,
Always pristine
Always giving
Somehow she always gives
Selflessly.
It's in her hands that she provides
And cares
And devotes
And yearns
And loves.

I will always remember her hands
Because they are the hands of someone who gave me life
If only my hands were so pure
So excellent
So impeccable and
Distinctly memorable.

Ojalá que crezca.
Ojalá que crezca porque
quiero ser una flor.
Una flor con colores brillantes,
al mismo tiempo, una flor inteligente
que sabe que la belleza no es el exterior.
Me das agua porque
con un poquito yo sé que pueda.
Crecer hasta cimas alcanzables
con los pies en la tierra,
y las raíces firmes.

Ojalá permanencia enseñe cosas bonitas:
de la vida, del sufrimiento, y dolor.

Very, very often
people compare mental
illness to a
monster. Big, parasitic,
and life-stealing.
I wouldn't not
use this comparison
myself. Because, anxiety...

Its teeth are
cracking my bones,
peeling my skin,
closing my eyes
to the rationalities
of this beautiful,
beautiful world. I
am not, me.  
My thoughts are
destructive hurricanes to
my own mind.
They dig deeper
each time, into
tiny spaces of
my brain, my
soul, and heart.
It's a dark
reality, with supposed
reasoning... but no,
it's a parasite,
growing inside my
head. I try
to think I
am good, but
all it says
is 'you are
bad'. I try
to think, they
like me, but
'I am unlikable,
unlovable,' in the
face of this
Earth. How can
you greet a
thing that lives
with you everyday,
let alone, how
can you say
goodbye to it.

The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.

With a simple sentiment
A tear will shed
And another, and another.

Provoke my inner sensitivities,
And more rivers will flow
Until they reach the ocean of my lips.

With blunt scrutiny too,
My eye will hasten
To water the flowers on my neck.

And love, and love,
And hurt, and pain
All like a citric juice in one’s eyes,
Or the sharp sting of onion,
But not a sad film,
For it should caress the heart
To destroy the stability
And bring forth rain and thunder.  

The waterworks of my eyes
Perform regularly;
Filling every pore in my cheeks.

Within this semicircle
Lives brilliant sunshine
Lives insecurity
Lives love
Lives awe.

Within another half
Lives the distance of a silver moon
Lives security
Lives love
Lives nothing but love.

And within this circle
Lives you
Lives me
Lives love
It lives.

Que día
melancólico, precioso.
Es raro,
no está
como otros.
Un poco
de sol,
un poco
de viento -
como siempre,
mi amigo.
Los nubes
me miran,
mientras yo
estoy mirándolos.
Música bonita:
batería suave.
Un camino
corto, bonito.
Mira, gira
el mundo
cada día.
Estoy aprendiendo,
estoy creciendo,
es claro.

So you showed me your kite
It was green and red,
Contrasting,
Yet quite beautiful.
We'd sit on the edge of a bench
And fly it in the fields.
Watch it floating away
High into the universe.
It felt it was part of the majestic clouds:
***** of melted marshmallow.
You let me try to fly it
But I knew my strength
Wasn't enough.
I trusted you though.
As soon as I did
The kite pulled me firmly,
Brutally.
I felt sick.
My arms were weak.
Why, when you did it
You looked so strong and
So candidly powerful.
But when I did,
My life flashed before me:
The potent pull.
After a couple experiences
I chose not to fly it,
I just watched you
Time and again.
It got tiresome.
Tedious and mundane.
Dull green, faded red.
Kite high in the sky
Commanded by the unrelenting wind.
No longer did the clouds appear majestic,
Merely grey, an obnoxious grey.
And once they created raindrops every night
You carried on.
I stopped.
Even with the rain
You carried on.

The thing that we dwell on,
Sometimes reaches a threshold that we
Cannot function anymore we have not
Attained a full level of this
Subjective, unattainable thing; its absence is
depression. These peaks and troughs we
deny are just fleeting moments in
something that will become our history.
Our children will look and say,
You should be grateful, you had
it all: the money, the possessions
the happiness. But it’s not all
that is it? It’s the people
on my continuum. I’ll meet you
and you’ll pass me by on
the street and we’ll never say
hello because you’d much prefer to
be consumed in your possessions and
self. Whereas I’ll meet another and
we’ll share our ideas and maybe
even our lives together. You’ll inspire
me to write about something, or
perhaps we’ll never meet. We can
Only speculate what role you play
In my life at this moment.

Let's not build anymore memories
Before we live to try not to remember them.

Your face wasn't a photograph,
Nor was it perfection.
No emotion, no sanction.
Very three-dimensional
Very real.
Every inch of your body
Your words, your life;
Real.
This is tearing me into thousands of tiny pieces.
Ripped pieces of paper
In an overflowing mountain in a bin.
A scrapbook
Inside live scribbles of my
Dead, overly sensitive insides.
Every single tear dried my body
Of hydration.
Can you die from crying too much?
Syllables of your words:
Promises to being a better person.
But I want to be elsewhere
I can totally close my eyes and
Become blind temporarily.
Regrettably, it was my fault.
My very own words, caused me the hurt
That you then further induced.

Deep inside I am a ball of colour.
Waiting, wanting
To explode into a firework
Releasing, bursting into light.
My tears are colourful:
Royal purple, sparkly, and shiny.
My heart isn't just red,
It's shades of love.

But I am being held down by you.
You're suffocating my colour,
Putting your hand over my mouth
Choking, deflating every bit.
And now I'm like the smog from a chimney:
Dark and coal-like, and I stick to you
Like a horrible odour:
Disgustingly attached.

A selfish part
That I will never
Share with him
A passionate part
That I could never bear
To express to him
A beautiful thought
Destroyed
By an ugly action
A talentless wording
To a mediocre
Melody ...

And as I was admiring your beauty,
You were melting away...

Can you feel it right now?
The development of something quite wow
You called me a wave,
I leave the shore, come back, and save
You from this state
I call it fate
I describe myself as a tide
I thought you could confide
In this tidal wave of emotion
Derived from the ocean

Through this lens, I look at a flower
Magenta in colour.
Snap.
Further along the flowerbed, I see a red rose,
Its petals immaculate.
Snap.
As the Canon focuses,
As each pixel becomes clearer and more vivid,
And colours more vibrant, I
Snap, snap, snap.
Through my lens, I turn the camera and
Observe your ****** expression;
What do I see?
Snap.

A silence drawn by the fingers, and drawn from the mind.
Every emotion is awakened in a slumbering poem that once was silenced by an oppressor.
And "who is the oppressor?" you may ask.
The same selfish dictator that allows empty words to evaporate into the air, and denies the floral mind from blossoming.

Slouched on the bed, legs bent up,
The laptop face beaming.
I just gaze at the screen.
This emotionless laid-back stance makes me think
I'm fresh out of a bath, hair wet,
How relaxed my body feels still.
The heat filled my body like that cup
Of jasmine green tea on my bedside.
Curls are forming at the bottom of my hair;
As they always tend to.
I sit here, no thrill.
As I was en route home,
I had the breeze lashing on my skin,
The wind and the spitting rain,
Splattering on my coat.
It normally creates an illusion of polkadots,
And makeup blackens my cheeks.
I squint to see,
Somehow I prefer this feeling.
Exhilaratingly breathless,
Uplifted and exhausted.
But yet, I am sat here.
Glaring into a screen.

I utterly adore the way
You say what you say.
And you inspire me
In more ways than one.
It's the simpler way of expressing
These undue feelings.
Little do I understand my own
Although I try.
But writing about it, singlehandedly,
Enables me a power.
You write with your fingers
But this feels incomparable.
Every word seems to
Divulge your clever thoughts.
I want to be as open as you,
Yet as passionate too.
As good,
As loved.

It's like all those emotions I'd read about:
The artistic, pompous, ostentatious words on a page.

Distorted human feelings,
Showing the imperfection of our design.

Images of bones, hearts, skin,
Every inner and outer thing that makes us this material being.

We could have perfectly soft skin,
But the most un-soft thoughts.

A harsh, "ugly" exterior,
But the most enchanting heart.

I can't even define what ugly means,
Because we're all art and perception.

And no art, no matter what,
Is that.

If you say te quiero fast enough,
The beginning almost sounds like take.
That is not to say I won't take,
But I will give so much more.

I thrive with excitement when I have mulled
Over when we first met. A wind stroked my
Hand, as did you. But softer, than that breeze.
I cried and wailed until soothed by your warmth.

Not only do I remember that first
Encounter: I recall and reminisce
Over the sunrise and sunset you showed
Me. A peek-a-boo of day and night time.

After the light and dark, I must keep you
Near. You are replaced with a night-light in
The shape of your moon: a crescent-like smile.
Some safety, I cling to you for refuge.

However much I want to need you now,
Let me go and let me do what I want.
Drive cars, use electricity. It's too
Much. High phone bills, but not from ringing you.

Time went on: I changed and grew, you blossomed
In spring time. You brought me gifts I treasure
Every year. You and I are altered. You
Age drastically. I try to savour time.

Things have changed like season fashion. Winter
Means scarves, you are ice cold and white as snow.
Illness. You do not dress yourself in coats.
Mother nature, address us, you are unwell.

We'll listen to reggae and fall asleep.
Me, in your arms. You, panting heavy,
happy sighs. Inhalation, exhalation, inhalation. I'm beginning
to dream these vivid images of life:
I start, you stop it. It's you and
me, like this incorruptible bond, feeling like
a salad of cables, of intertwined bodies
awaiting passion and love. It screeches
to a respectable halt. You'll play
those strings and I'll strain my voice-box.
No words, just our reggae tune spreading
via our ears, causing these... these goosebumps.
Tonight's ideal. Slow reggae, beautiful
harmonies. I could perish, let my heart
stop to this song: I'd die ecstatic.

And now you're just a face in the crowd,
That I used to recognise
Every inch of;
The eyelashes that curled more than mine, and
The teeth that revealed that loving smile.

And now you're just a name in a list of people
Blurred out, no longer highlighted;
Just like a on social media page,
No longer giving me intense, unjustified butterflies.
Oh, how they'd flutter inside.

And now you're just a memory,
A photograph, pausing a happy feeling;
But not truly reflecting the previous, sorrowful
Day or two,
In which I made us both cry.

And now you're just frivolous gossip.
Your name bears this nostalgia;
But can never fulfil me like before.
I know I'm your past,
And will never be your future.

Plug in the kettle,
But in your soul,
With settled heart beats,
Your man is cold.
He loves to call bluff
And shakes your mind;
Poorer than paupers
You, fighting blind.
Plug in the kettle,
Put in again
Some assorted teabags
Of taste in men.
Dunk it in slowly,
But it all spews.
What's left for yourself
What can you do?
Fry your tastebuds in
Oil from your part,
Take out the teabag
From your boiled heart.

I’m split into two
Then I’m whole
I’m up and down
Then I’m left and right
Full of clichés
Then completely original
I’m gravity
Then I’m space
I’m a mess
Then I’m flawless
I’m thoughtless
Then I’m eloquent
I talk for hours on end
Then I’m mute
I’m glue
Then I’m detached
I’ll run
Then I’ll be stationary
I have many thoughts at once
Then I’m blank

I won’t write poems for 2 years
Then I’ll write 6 . . .

Kiss my cheek
I’ll feel 100 times better
I know how much you don’t want me to cry

If you kissed my cheek
The tears would have no choice
But not to stream